Ghost Story IV

This is part 4 of a Ghost Story. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 here. Part 3 is about lesbians. Here is Part 5. Part 6.
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Porch light was dimmed, and no shadow of the dog. Good sign, thought Harry, stepping out of his car. She usually tied the dog up to the pole at the gate before getting up to bed, so that it would stay awake and 'guard the house'. He felt kinda sorry for the pooch, but hey, it wasn't his pet.

He crept into the living room, eyeballs grazing the wall before the couch. It will be empty, it will be empty, he said to himself. "Paper, rock, scissors."

"What?" said Beatrice, grinding an elbow on a cushion.

"Oh, you remember. The game? Paper, rock, scissors?"

"What about it?" Beatrice's cat noticed her wakefulness and jumped over her breasts.

"Nothing, nothing," said Harry.

"Where did you go, Harry?" asked Beatrice.

Harry turned from the fridge, wasps of cold air wafting around him. "You want to go, uh, you know, uh, do it?" he asked.

Beatrice put another elbow upon a cushion. "Make love?" she said.

"Yeah. You know. Make love," said Harry, gulping some milk down.

"We never make love, Harry," said Beatrice.

Her cat had leapt from her breasts and was now purring at Harry's feet. "Got milk?" asked Harry, wishing he could, just ... punt it out the window. He looked up at Beatrice, smiling.

"Wish I could punt the cat," he tried.

"What's happening, Harry? I know you. There's something on your mind. What's going on. Is Emma ok?"

Harry put the milk back in the fridge, saying nothing, and walked up. He sat on the floor, by Beatrice's couch.

"It's all real," he said, looking directly into her face.

This caused Beatrice to get her fat ass off the couch and replace it right beside Harry, oodles of concern oozing from her. "What's real, baby?" she asked. "Where's Emma?"

"Emma," said Harry, momentarily losing his composure, "Emma, it's all real!"

"Honey," said Beatrice, expertly bringing her ambling cat beneath her bosom. "You're not making sense. What's wrong?" She gave him her administrative sigh - the one that said - yeah, you have no idea how to do your taxes - give all your money to me, and everything with be solved.

"All those times you told me Emma was possessed - it's real," yelled Harry, in a final ecstasy of release. "I mean, it's real, the ghosts. It's ... real!"

"Bobby?" asked Beatrice, stroking her pet more carefully.

"Fuckin' Bobby," said Harry. He's real!"

"Our child has been consorting with the dead?" asked Beatrice, eyes growing wide.

Harry looked at his wife's face. He tried to peer into her eyes. Then he shook his head. "What?"

"I told you we had a poltergeist in the house!" yelled Beatrice. "I told you - it's common for young girls to be able to cause things to fly about the house! Especially when Emma started having it - especially when she was thirteen! I told you! You never listened!"

Harry fended off the cat fur that lashed him. "Honey, you'll hurt the cat," he said. Finally Beatrice stopped hitting him, and turned moderate attention to her now moderately pet.

"It's not a poltergeist," said Harry, putting an arm around his wife.

"A demon? Is it the Devil?" sobbed Beatrice.

"No it's not like that at all."

"So ... what is it?"

"This kid," said Harry. "Bobby. He's real. He's a real kid."

Beatrice let go of her cat, who rolled over, but then sat up again, inches from her. The cat looked up at Harry.

"It's a real kid" laughed Harry. "All these years, Emma told us about Bobby - it's not an imaginary friend."

"He's real?"

"Yeah, I saw him. At the soccer field."

"Why were you at- you SAW him?"

"Yeah. He wanted to go look for EVPs."

"What are EV- Why were- You SAW Bobby?"

"Yeah," laughed Harry. Something was better. Something in his soul - his chest - was - releasing. "Yeah, I SAW him."

"What did he say? What happened?" asked Beatrice.

"He asked me if he was real," laughed Harry.

"What did you say?"

"What do you think I would say? I told him he was real."

Beatrice moved her fat ass closer to Harry's. "Harry. Harry. What are we going to tell Emma?"

Harry's smile turned into a frown. "What do we say?" he said. He looked up at his wife and her cat - "We'll, uh. We'll call some help in."

"Who you gonna call?" asked Beatrice.

Harry pulled the yellowpages onto his lap. He licked his finger and started turning over it. Finally, he pulled the phone down to him. It crashed on the floor, letting out a loud ring.

"Maybe the Wisconsin Paranormal Society?" he said, looking at his wife while dialling the number.